Chapter 13 - How The White Company Set Forth To The Wars

ST. LUKE'S day had come and had gone, and it was in the season of
Martinmas, when the oxen are driven in to the slaughter, that the
White Company was ready for its journey. Loud shrieked the
brazen bugles from keep and from gateway, and merry was the
rattle of the war-drum, as the men gathered in the outer bailey,
with torches to light them, for the morn had not yet broken.
Alleyne, from the window of the armory, looked down upon the
strange scene--the circles of yellow flickering light, the lines
of stern and bearded faces, the quick shimmer of arms, and the
lean heads of the horses. In front stood the bow-men, ten deep,
with a fringe of under-officers, who paced hither and thither
marshalling the ranks with curt precept or short rebuke. Behind
were the little clump of steel-clad horsemen, their lances
raised, with long pensils drooping down the oaken shafts. So
silent and still were they, that they might have been metal-
sheathed statues, were it not for the occasional quick, impatient
stamp of their chargers, or the rattle of chamfron against neck-
plates as they tossed and strained. A spear's length in front of
them sat the spare and long-limbed figure of Black Simon, the
Norwich fighting man, his fierce, deep-lined face framed in
steel, and the silk guidon marked with the five scarlet roses
slanting over his right shoulder. All round, in the edge of the
circle of the light, stood the castle servants, the soldiers who
were to form the garrison, and little knots of women. who sobbed
in their aprons and called shrilly to their name-saints to watch
over the Wat, or Will, or Peterkin who had turned his hand to the
work of war.

The young squire was leaning forward, gazing at the stirring and
martial scene, when he heard a short, quick gasp at his shoulder,
and there was the Lady Maude, with her hand to her heart, leaning
up against the wall, slender and fair, like a half-plucked lily.
Her face was turned away from him, but he could see, by the sharp
intake of her breath, that she was weeping bitterly.

"Alas! alas!" he cried, all unnerved at the sight, "why is it
that you are so sad, lady?"

"It is the sight of these brave men," she answered; "and to think
how many of them go and how few are like to find their way back.
I have seen it before, when I was a little maid, in the year of
the Prince's great battle. I remember then how they mustered in
the bailey, even as they do now, and my lady-mother holding me in
her arms at this very window that I might see the show."

"Please God, you will see them all back ere another year be out,"
said he.

She shook her head, looking round at him with flushed cheeks and
eyes that sparkled in the lamp-light. "Oh, but I hate myself for
being a woman!" she cried, with a stamp of her little foot.
"What can I do that is good? Here I must bide, and talk and sew
and spin, and spin and sew and talk. Ever the same dull round,
with nothing at the end of it. And now you are going too, who
could carry my thoughts out of these gray walls, and raise my
mind above tapestry and distaffs. What can I do? I am of no more
use or value than that broken bowstave."

"You are of such value to me," he cried, in a whirl of hot,
passionate words, "that all else has become nought. You are my
heart, my life, my one and only thought. Oh, Maude, I cannot
live without you, I cannot leave you without a word of love. All
is changed to me since I have known you. I am poor and lowly and
all unworthy of you; but if great love may weigh down such
defects, then mine may do it. Give me but one word of hope to
take to the wars with me--but one. Ah, you shrink, you shudder!
My wild words have frightened you."

Twice she opened her lips, and twice no sound came from them. At
last she spoke in a hard and measured voice, as one who dare not
trust herself to speak too freely.

"This is over sudden," she said; "it is not so long since the
world was nothing to you. You have changed once; perchance you
may change again."

"Cruel!" he cried, "who hath changed me?"

"And then your brother," she continued with a little laugh,
disregarding his question. "Methinks this hath become a family
custom amongst the Edricsons. Nay, I am sorry; I did not mean a
jibe. But, indeed, Alleyne, this hath come suddenly upon me, and
I scarce know what to say."

"Say some word of hope, however distant--some kind word that I
may cherish in my heart."

"Nay, Alleyne, it were a cruel kindness, and you have been too
good and true a friend to me that I should use you despitefully.
There cannot be a closer link between us. It is madness to think
of it. Were there no other reasons, it is enough that my father
and your brother would both cry out against it."

"My brother, what has he to do with it? And your father----"

"Come, Alleyne, was it not you who would have me act fairly to
all men, and, certes, to my father amongst them?"

"You say truly," he cried, "you say truly. But you do not reject
me, Maude? You give me some ray of hope? I do not ask pledge or
promise. Say only that I am not hateful to you--that on some
happier day I may hear kinder words from you."

Her eyes softened upon him, and a kind answer was on her lips,
when a hoarse shout, with the clatter of arms and stamping of
steeds, rose up from the bailey below. At the sound her face set
her eyes sparkled, and she stood with flushed cheek and head
thrown back--a woman's body, with a soul of fire.

"My father hath gone down," she cried. "Your place is by his
side. Nay, look not at me, Alleyne. It is no time for dallying.
Win my father's love, and all may follow. It is when the brave
soldier hath done his devoir that he hopes for his reward,
Farewell, and may God be with you!" She held out her white, slim
hand to him, but as he bent his lips over it she whisked away and
was gone, leaving in his outstretched hand the very green veil
for which poor Peter Terlake had craved in vain. Again the
hoarse cheering burst out from below, and he heard the clang of
the rising portcullis. Pressing the veil to his lips, he thrust
it into the bosom of his tunic, and rushed as fast as feet could
bear him to arm himself and join the muster.

The raw morning had broken ere the hot spiced ale had been served
round and the last farewell spoken. A cold wind blew up from the
sea and ragged clouds drifted swiftly across the sky.

The Christchurch townsfolk stood huddled about the Bridge of
Avon, the women pulling tight their shawls and the men swathing
themselves in their gaberdines, while down the winding path from
the castle came the van of the little army, their feet clanging
on the hard, frozen road. First came Black Simon with his
banner, bestriding a lean and powerful dapple-gray charger, as
hard and wiry and warwise as himself. After him, riding three
abreast, were nine men-at-arms, all picked soldiers, who had
followed the French wars before, and knew the marches of Picardy
as they knew the downs of their native Hampshire. They were
armed to the teeth with lance, sword, and mace, with square
shields notched at the upper right-hand corner to serve as a
spear-rest. For defence each man wore a coat of interlaced
leathern thongs, strengthened at the shoulder, elbow, and upper
arm with slips of steel. Greaves and knee-pieces were also of
leather backed by steel, and their gauntlets and shoes were of
iron plates, craftily jointed, So, with jingle of arms and
clatter of hoofs, they rode across the Bridge of Avon, while the
burghers shouted lustily for the flag of the five roses and its
gallant guard.

Close at the heels of the horses came two-score archers bearded
and burly, their round targets on their backs and their long
yellow bows, the most deadly weapon that the wit of man had yet
devised, thrusting forth from behind their shoulders. From each
man's girdle hung sword or axe, according to his humor, and over
the right hip there jutted out the leathern quiver with its
bristle of goose, pigeon, and peacock feathers. Behind the
bowmen strode two trumpeters blowing upon nakirs, and two
drummers in parti-colored clothes. After them came twenty-seven
sumpter horses carrying tent-poles, cloth, spare arms, spurs,
wedges, cooking kettles, horse-shoes, bags of nails and the
hundred other things which experience had shown to be needful in
a harried and hostile country. A white mule with red trappings,
led by a varlet, carried Sir Nigel's own napery and table
comforts. Then came two-score more archers, ten more men-at-
arms, and finally a rear guard of twenty bowmen, with big John
towering in the front rank and the veteran Aylward marching by
the side, his battered harness and faded surcoat in strange
contrast with the snow-white jupons and shining brigandines of
his companions. A quick cross-fire of greetings and questions
and rough West Saxon jests flew from rank to rank, or were
bandied about betwixt the marching archers and the gazing crowd.

"Hola, Gaffer Higginson!" cried Aylward, as he spied the portly
figure of the village innkeeper. "No more of thy nut-brown, mon
gar. We leave it behind us."

"By St. Paul, no!" cried the other. "You take it with you.
Devil a drop have you left in the great kilderkin. It was time
for you to go."

"If your cask is leer, I warrant your purse is full, gaffer,"
shouted Hordle John. "See that you lay in good store of the best
for our home-coming."

"See that you keep your throat whole for the drinking of it
archer," cried a voice, and the crowd laughed at the rough
pleasantry.

"If you will warrant the beer, I will warrant the throat," said
John composedly.

"Close up the ranks!" cried Aylward. "En avant, mes enfants!
Ah, by my finger bones, there is my sweet Mary from the Priory
Mill! Ma foi, but she is beautiful! Adieu, Mary ma cherie! Mon
coeur est toujours a toi. Brace your belt, Watkins, man, and
swing your shoulders as a free companion should. By my hilt!
your jerkins will be as dirty as mine ere you clap eyes on
Hengistbury Head again."

The company had marched to the turn of the road ere Sir Nigel
Loring rode out from the gateway, mounted on Pommers, his great
black war-horse, whose ponderous footfall on the wooden
drawbridge echoed loudly from the gloomy arch which spanned it.
Sir Nigel was still in his velvet dress of peace, with flat
velvet cap of maintenance, and curling ostrich feather clasped in
a golden brooch. To his three squires riding behind him it
looked as though he bore the bird's egg as well as its feather,
for the back of his bald pate shone like a globe of ivory. He
bore no arms save the long and heavy sword which hung at his
saddle-bow; but Terlake carried in front of him the high wivern-
crested bassinet, Ford the heavy ash spear with swallow-tail
pennon, while Alleyne was entrusted with the emblazoned shield.
The Lady Loring rode her palfrey at her lord's bridle-arm, for
she would see him as far as the edge of the forest, and ever and
anon she turned her hard-lined face up wistfully to him and ran a
questioning eye over his apparel and appointments

"I trust that there is nothing forgot," she said, beckoning to
Alleyne to ride on her further side. "I trust him to you,
Edricson. Hosen, shirts, cyclas, and under-jupons are in the
brown basket on the left side of the mule. His wine he takes hot
when the nights are cold, malvoisie or vernage, with as much
spice as would cover the thumb-nail. See that he hath a change
if he come back hot from the tilting. There is goose-grease in a
box, if the old scars ache at the turn of the weather. Let his
blankets be dry and----"

"Nay, my heart's life," the little knight interrupted, "trouble
not now about such matters. Why so pale and wan, Edricson? Is it
not enow to make a man's heart dance to see this noble Company,
such valiant men-at-arms, such lusty archers? By St. Paul! I
would be ill to please if I were not blithe to see the red roses
flying at the head of so noble a following!"

"The purse I have already given you, Edricson," continue the
lady. "There are in it twenty-three marks, one noble, three
shillings and fourpence, which is a great treasure for one man to
carry. And I pray you to bear in mind, Edricson, that he hath
two pair of shoes, those of red leather for common use, and the
others with golden toe-chains, which he may wear should he chance
to drink wine with the Prince or with Chandos."

"My sweet bird," said Sir Nigel, "I am right loth to part from
you, but we are now at the fringe of the forest, and it is not
right that I should take the chatelaine too far from her trust."

"But oh, my dear lord," she cried with a trembling lip, "let me
bide with you for one furlong further--or one and a half perhaps.
You may spare me this out of the weary miles that you will
journey along."

"Come, then, my heart's comfort," he answered. "But I must crave
a gage from thee. It is my custom, dearling, and hath been since
I have first known thee, to proclaim by herald in such camps,
townships, or fortalices as I may chance to visit, that my lady-
love, being beyond compare the fairest and sweetest in
Christendom, I should deem it great honor and kindly
condescension if any cavalier would run three courses against me
with sharpened lances, should he chance to have a lady whose
claim he was willing to advance. I pray you then my fair dove,
that you will vouchsafe to me one of those doeskin gloves, that I
may wear it as the badge of her whose servant I shall ever be."

"Alack and alas for the fairest and sweetest!" she cried. "Fair
and sweet I would fain be for your dear sake, my lord, but old I
am and ugly, and the knights would laugh should you lay lance in
rest in such a cause."

"Edricson," quoth Sir Nigel, "you have young eyes, and mine are
somewhat bedimmed. Should you chance to see a knight laugh, or
smile, or even, look you, arch his brows, or purse his mouth, or
in any way show surprise that I should uphold the Lady Mary, you
will take particular note of his name, his coat-armor, and his
lodging. Your glove, my life's desire!"

The Lady Mary Loring slipped her hand from her yellow leather
gauntlet, and he, lifting it with dainty reverence, bound it to
the front of his velvet cap.

"It is with mine other guardian angels," quoth he, pointing at
the saints' medals which hung beside it. "And now, my dear-est,
you have come far enow. May the Virgin guard and prosper thee!
One kiss!" He bent down from his saddle, and then, striking
spurs into his horse's sides, he galloped at top speed after his
men, with his three squires at his heels. Half a mile further,
where the road topped a hill, they looked back, and the Lady Mary
on her white palfrey was still where they had left her. A moment
later they were on the downward slope, and she had vanished from
their view.